Still. The wind was still and nothing was 'round. It looked to see what this ment but it could find no answer. All that was had stopped and it was the last remaining motion. Alone, Afraid. No movement, No sound. How was it supposed to survive? How was it supposed to live? If nothing would move and he could not move it then all he could do was stop and listen, but if nothing would move and nothing could be moved then what was there to listen to? No whistles, No birds. No rustles, No wind. No sound except the sound of it. And it did not like it's sound, old and creaky, loud and wheezing. It wanted the sweet sounds again. The sound of laughs, The sound of the breeze through the trees. But now nothing would move, and all it could hear was the sound of thump, budump budump, and slowly it stopped until there was nothing to hear, and he slowly stopped until there was no sound, not even a wheeze or a thump, and then they knew he had given up.

If you can tell allot about a man by the look of his shoes then I wonder what tales mine would tell?

Would it be tales a silent figure that watches the crowd as it moves by?

Would it be tales of a kind boy that puts others before himself?

Or perhaps it would be a tale of someone who has seen much before he had to, and yet is still naive and young, despite the insight and thought he has.

But really the question should be asked why is it that the shoes define a person? Should it not just be assumed that every story you see is something that has happened, and every pair of shoes has a story that is beneath the view of what you think?

Because really there isn't any one story to define you as you are. The story of you is defined by the stories you make, you may like one specifically, but just that one isn't what makes you, and really until the day that you die and your story moves to its next chapter you are living a new story to define you. Something will always change this thought or that, whether it's your life view or the way you like your sandwich, so really you can't say that a story you see is what defines somebody, it is simply a cog in the story of a life.

I want to be alone, but I want to be known,
The conundrum of an age of whether or not to engage,
Life is fullest when surrounded by friends,
All I want is to be myself, but I want to be loved by everyone else,
I sit alone in a room of my own, but I don't want to be in a room with such gloom,
Where is the light to bring myself alight,
Where is the light to open myself tonight,
The world is here, the world is there, all I see is a room filled with fear,
I want nothing more than to be known, and yet all I am is alone.